


Just Sleep

by Pinchetta



Series: Small Wounds [2]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Aftermath, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Anxiety, Boyfriends, Coffee, Crying, Cuddles, Cutting, Depression, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Ferard, Frerard, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Tears, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-05-25 19:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6206812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinchetta/pseuds/Pinchetta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>**SEQUEL TO 'Destroy Me (MCR version)'**<br/>The aftermath of Gerard's self-destruction hurts Frank in ways he wasn't expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****This is a sequel to my short story 'Destroy Me (MCR version)' so it would be awesome if you go to my works profile and read that one first. Thank you :) ****

After Gerard tries to kill himself, Frank doesn't sleep for three days.

When the paramedics finally arrive, eyes flashing in the naked glare of the motel lights, they peel Gerard's unconscious body from Frank's shivering arms and he whimpers and grabs at the empty air in his lap with trembling hands. Bright scarlet blood smears the dirty tiles, his sweat-damp clothes and his ex-lover's pale wet cheeks. Emergency clamps and bandages stop the fatal red river flowing and a solemn senior medic mutters into her radio while her partner unfolds a metal gurney and covers Gerard's tear-stained face with a plastic mask.

They won't let Frank ride along in the ambulance and shut the doors in his face, ignoring his pleas because "only family members and spouses can ride along". Barely able to speak through the volcanic anger and fear in his chest, Frank begs the motel manager to call him a cab and cowers alone on the dark street wiping his eyes with blood-stained sleeves until the taxi arrives and takes him to a hospital downtown.

He's never been to Florida before today and he doesn't know anyone within a thousand miles of Pensacola. Completely alone, he curls up dazed and frightened on a hard plastic chair in the ER waiting room and stares with red eyes at a bubbling water cooler. The hours tick by too slowly. He can't stop shaking and his lungs are suffocating on the dry antiseptic air as panic squeezes his chest tight like a vice. Muffled voices and the sounds of coughing, vomiting and bleeping machines echo and buzz in his head but no one speaks to him or even acknowledges his existence. By 3am he's so zoned out that he doesn't even notice a young nurse standing in front of him until she gently reaches out and taps him on the shoulder. Flinching, he stares startled at the blonde woman in blue scrubs holding out a paper cup of coffee.  
“Are you okay, kid?” she asks with a sympathetic smile, her kind eyes crinkling at the corners, “You look like you could use some caffeine.”  
“Oh, uh...thanks,” Frank stammers hoarsely, taking the cup with numb blood-stained fingers as nausea and fear churn his stomach. It's Gerard's blood painting his skin, his poor sad precious Gee, and he can't remember why they ever broke up right now as the dried crimson stains itch and flake red death all over his hands. Back across town the same tragic blood is pooled all over a scummy bathroom floor like a gory scene in a bad horror movie and the memory of it makes him want to vomit. Fuck, the only man he's ever loved tried to kill himself tonight and nothing will ever reverse that damage. What if the medics couldn't save Gerard after all and he's actually lying dead somewhere in the depths of this sterile white maze? What the fuck is he supposed to do if Gee is already gone forever? Oh god, fuck, fuck FUCK!  
“Hey, shhh, it's alright,” the nurse murmurs, sitting down and rubbing her hand gently across Frank's back as he dissolves into exhausted tears, “Who are you here to see, sweetie?”  
“M-My...I'm here cos my b-boyfriend tried to...h-he hurt himself really bad,” Frank sobs miserably, snot and tears clogging his nose and throat as the coffee cup shakes in his trembling hands, “And I-I don't know w-what's going on but I'm n-not family s-so would they even tell me if he w-wasn't okay?”  
“Of course they would, honey. Aw, don't cry, I can find out where he is for you now if you like. What's his name?”

The nurse is called Denise and after making some discreet enquiries she leads Frank to a small tiled room shrouded in white curtains where Gerard is lying on a lonely narrow bed. A thin blanket is all that covers his sleeping form and winding plactic tubes are carrying blood, plasma and saline into needles piercing the tiny blue veins in his hands. The arm he butchered in the motel is wrapped in bandages and lying limp across his stomach on the crumpled sheets and his closed eyes are circled with puffy purple skin and sunken into his pale face. He looks painfully still and lifeless, like a waxwork or a broken doll, and Frank stares at his former lover in helpless agony with his hands bunched up against his mouth, holding his breath until his lungs burn. He can taste blood and it takes him a moment to realize he's been anxiously chewing at his lip-ring so hard he's bitten through the tender flesh around it. Forcing himself to take a small wheezing breath, he whimpers Gerard's name and screws his eyes shut against a flood of fresh tears as cold shock makes his legs go numb and he falls to his hands and knees. Denise is beside him in an instant, helping him up and guiding him over to a chair by the bed. Before she heads home at the end of her shift, she persuades Gerard's doctors to let Frank stay the night in his boyfriend's room by lying and saying they're brothers and he's still there; silent, sleepless and sad, when she returns to work the following afternoon and brings him a sandwich and another cup of java. He doesn't want to eat so she leaves disheartened and when he tries a sip of coffee after she's gone it tastes like ashes in his mouth.

***  
Gerard is unconscious for days, long after the alcohol and drugs he took are purged from his system, and his injured body struggles and fights for a recovery that might never happen. When he slashed open his arm the blood-loss and trauma caused some of his organs to start shutting down and even though his condition has been stabilized, his brain has slipped into a coma that could last indefinitely. The doctors explain all of this to Gerard's parents when they arrive off a plane from New Jersey on the third day of their son's hospitalization and Gerard's mom Donna starts weeping and cursing God - and Frank - for letting this happen to her firstborn so soon after her youngest son's death. Simmering with rage, Frank is unable to hold in his terror and hurt any longer and starts screaming at Donna that of course this happened since she and her husband made no secret of the fact that they blamed Gerard for Mikey's death after the car accident. They made Gerard feel so guilty it's no wonder he tried to kill himself!  
Outraged at the audacity of the angry teenager standing before her, Donna backhands Frank hard across the face and when he tries to shove her away she hits him again and her husband Don has to pull them apart. The argument that ensues is so loud a security guard comes running in and escorts Frank out of the building, leaving him to pace and grumble under his breath outside the hospital parking lot until night falls and he's too weak from stress and hunger to stay on his feet.

Don wanders outside for a smoke after visiting hours and stumbles across Frank shivering on the grimy pavement with his head in his hands, still wearing the same smelly blood-stained clothes from three days before. The teenager's cheeks are red from weeping and scratched from Donna's rings and he looks so small and shattered that the older man takes pity on him and offers him a cigarette before sitting down to talk. Apologizing for his wife's behaviour, Don coaxes Frank up off the ground and takes him to a nearby MacDonald's where he forces the starving kid to eat some fries and apple pie and gives him enough money to get a hotel room somewhere in town. “Just stay clear of my wife for a couple days, kid,” he advises wearily, “I'll take your cell phone number and call you if Gerard's condition changes, I promise.”

Feeling morbid and depressed, Frank finds his way back to the place where Gerard had his breakdown and asks to stay in the exact same room, not caring if it's been cleaned or not. The guy behind the front desk recognizes him and rolls his eyes as he fetches the right key, growling “You better not cut yourself up in there too, son. I ain't in the mood to clean you off the floor in the mornin'.” Frank winces at the thought and nods gloomily, biting another chunk out of his ragged lips and tasting iron and pain as he heads for the stairs.

All the blood, puke and booze from that awful night has been cleaned up but the ugly little room now stinks of bleach and a musty cloying misery that creeps into Frank's messed up head and makes him feel even worse. His stomach is sickly and hurts like his insides have been scraped raw. Without Gerard he's lost and useless in the darkness. Stumbling over to the bed, he crawls under the lumpy covers and hugs a pillow to his shuddering ribs as hoarse sobs escape his bleeding lips. Closing his sore eyes on the nightmares he knows are coming, he huddles into a tiny ball and cries himself to sleep.


	2. TWO

Frank awakes with a groan the next day to a loud buzz, buzz, buzzing noise. Staring blearily at the ceiling through puffy eyes and a headache he wonders for a moment how the hell a bee could have got into his hotel room. Then he realizes it's his cell phone vibrating. Sitting up on the dishevelled sheets, he clumsily digs it out of his jeans pocket – ugh, he fell asleep in his goddamn clothes – and hits the answer button, holding it to his ear in a white-knuckled grip. “H-Hello?”  
“Hello Frank. It's Don Way.”  
“Ohmygod, did something happen with Gee...Gerard?! Is he alright?”  
“He's fine, kid. Our boy woke up today and he's going to be okay... all things considered.”  
“Ohgod, thank fuck!” Frank gasps, weak with relief, “I'll be right there.”  
“Wait, Frank...” Don's voice changes from happy to nervous in an instant and Frank's heart sinks, knowing what the older man is about to say. “My wife doesn't want you here, kid, I'm sorry. I've told Gerard that you're around and you want to see him and he could overrule her if he wanted, but...Well it's his choice.”  
“Oh...okay, y-yeah,” Frank mumbles, his eyes wet and swimming as he screws them shut and shudders at the warm droplets running down his cheeks, “I get it.”  
“I'm sorry,” Don says stiffly, “I'll keep you posted.”  
Gerard's father hangs up and Frank's shaking hand drops the silent phone on the wrinkled sheets. He isn't sure what to feel for a while so he just stares at the wall, breathing roughly and curling his trembling fingers into his hair, tugging painfully at the roots until the sting in his scalp brings him back to earth.

Cursing under his breath, he wipes his eyes and stumbles off the bed and into the bathroom where Gerard almost died four days ago. Turning the cold tap on full blast, he splashes his face and hands with the freezing water and slurps it down in huge mouthfuls until his throat and stomach are chilled through and he's almost shivering.  
Staring at his wide-eyed face in the mirror, he snorts back the snot streaming from his wet nose and spits into the plughole, frowning at the dark circles around his swollen eyes. He looks like hell. Lifting a dripping hand to his mouth he picks viciously at the scab around his lipring until it starts to bleed again and sucks on the wound, grimacing in disgust and defeat. He's a goddamn mess right now and Gerard doesn't need that in his already damaged life. Shit, they're not even dating anymore! They haven't been for months. If Gee wanted to see him then he would've already asked Don. Nobody wants him here. Shuffling miserably back to the bed, Frank rubs his face dry on the dirty sheets and grabs the knapsack with his few belongings in it. He came here to save Gerard and he did. Now it's time to fuck off home.

He's sitting on a Greyhound bus bound for New Jersey, curled up in his seat listening to Black Flag and drinking vodka out of a soda bottle, when his phone rings again. It isn't Don's number calling so he almost doesn't answer it. “Yeah, hello?”  
“Frankie? What's up man, it's Ray. Did you find Gerard?”  
“Yeah... For all the good it did me.”  
“Is he alright?”  
“Probably. His bitch mom will make sure he's safe, no doubt.”  
“Um...Frankie, you don't sound so good. Are you okay?”  
Frank grunts with bitter laughter, watching streetlights zoom past the bus windows as his eyes blur with the memory of Gerard's blood staining everything around them the color of violence, “No, not really.”  
“Well do you wanna come over to my place when you get back? Maybe talk about it?”  
“Sure, Toro. Catch you later.”

One week and a lot of angry under-age drinking later, Frank is lying wasted on his beer-stained bedroom floor smoking a cigarette while his mom bangs on the locked door and screams at him to get up and go to school. The waste paper basket near his sprawled body is half-filled with congealing liquor puke and his right shoulder is throbbing and bleeding from a deep cut he carved there with an old army knife. He just wanted to see what it felt like, to feel what Gerard felt that night, but it wasn't as easy or freeing or beautifully tragic as the dumb poems on the internet say. Slicing his pale weak flesh to ribbons only gave him pain and white noise and blood rushing to his head for a few giddy moments of wonder before sickly drunken bile shot up his throat and he threw up again. He used an old photograph of him and Gerard to wipe his mouth and then burned it with another cigarette.

After his mom finally gives up and goes to work, slamming the front door behind her in annoyance, he falls asleep on the floor drooling into the carpet, and he's still there four hours later when Gerard Fucking Way walks up his driveway and starts throwing tiny pebbles at his window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *  
> I'm really looking for opinions on this story. What do you want to see happen? :)  
> xx


	3. THREE

Swearing under his breath as his stomach knots with nerves, Gerard picks up another piece of gravel and hurls it at Frank's bedroom window, throwing it so hard it cracks the glass and rains tiny splinters into the dead grass below. Crap.  
Sighing heavily, Gerard marches up to the front door before the worries and troubled thoughts in his head can stop him and knocks loudly. His left arm is cradled against his chest in a nylon sling, itching with dull pains as the crusty wounds he made slowly heal. No one answers so he keeps knocking, louder and harder, until he hears the sound of a window flying open above him and a familiar slurred voice cursing loudly: “What the fuck?!”  
“Hey Frankie! It's me... Uh, Gerard. Ray hasn't seen you for a couple days and he's kinda worried. You wanna come down?”  
More cursing and the sound of the broken window slamming shut. Gerard huffs and shoves his hand in his pocket, knuckles throbbing from battering the door. He wouldn't even be here if Ray hadn't made him come. The big oaf is even parked across the street watching him right now so he can't chicken out and run away. After the hellish week he's just spent in a hospital psych ward being pumped full of valium and useless therapy, he probably doesn't have the strength anyway.

Five minutes pass and Gerard fidgets nervously, listening to the cars in the street and playing with his cell phone. He wants nothing more than to turn away from his ex's doorway, crawl back onto Ray's musty couch and lie there until the world ends or he dies, whichever happens first. The last memory he has of Frank is of him crying and whispering that everything will be okay as Gerard's blood pooled stickily beneath their trembling bodies on a dirty bathroom floor. What right does he have to come here now after putting the younger man through all that shit? 'Attempted suicide' is such an ugly phrase: it reeks of failure.

Then the door bursts open, cutting through his morbid thoughts, and Frank is standing right in front of him looking pale and tired in torn jeans and a baggy stained cardigan, making Gerard's heart jump into his throat. He's missed this kid so goddamn much.  
“Hi,” he whispers hoarsely, his mouth bone-dry as Frank's bloodshot eyes bore into him, “Um...How are you?”  
Frank raises his eyebrows, breathing roughly like he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. For almost a full minute they just stare at each other, Gerard with his mouth open slightly in shock at his former boyfriend's ragged appearance and Frank trying to hide an obvious hangover behind a glare of disbelief. “How am I?” the teenager repeats with a pained laugh, “How am I? Oh I don't know, let's see: I spent all my savings flying to the ass-end of nowhere to help you when your own family couldn't be bothered and found you bleeding to death in a fucking motel! Then I got thrown out of your hospital room for defending you to your own parents after I'd spent two solid days and nights sitting with your unconscious body praying and begging for you to wake up and be okay, and then I found out that you didn't even want to see me when you woke up because apparently I don't matter to you anymore, right?! So how am I? I'm fucking peachy, you dick!”

Somewhere in the middle of this outburst Frank starts to cry and by the time he's done he can't look Gerard in the eye anymore. “You almost died, you fucker,” he sobs angrily, “I still have your blood in m-my shoes for fuck's sake! I thought you were gonna go away f-forever, Gee, a-and I couldn't even begin to deal with that! I-I still can't...”

“Fuck...,” Gerard whispers, warm salt-water flooding his eyes as compassion and concern overwhelms his own self-hatred and sadness for a moment. Tentatively, he reaches out with his good arm to hug the sobbing teen and Frank burrows quickly into his embrace, hugging his ex so tight that Gerard can barely breathe and crying slimy trails of tears and snot all over the older man's chest.  
“I'm so sorry,” Gerard murmurs, kissing his former lover's hair and holding him close, “I know it's fucking horrible, I AM fucking horrible and I can't do anything right! But I never wanted to hurt you, please believe that.”

Looking back across the street at Ray's waiting car, Gerard lets go of Frank's quivering body long enough to give their mutual friend a wave goodbye and then gently pushes Frank backwards until they're safely inside the house and the door can swing shut behind them. Wriggling away with a sniffled hiccup, Frank self-consciously scrubs his eyes dry on his shirt and swallows any remaining sobs, leaning heavily against the hallway wall. “Sorry I'm such a mess,” he mumbles, looking down at his feet, “I didn't mean to make a scene.”  
Gerard nods and wipes his own eyes on the back of his hand. His heart is hammering hard in his chest and he feels sick. “It's nothing compared to what I did,” he admits quietly.  
“You're fucking right about that," Frank sighs, "So...do you, um, would you like want a drink or something?”  
“Yeah. Coffee please, if you have it.”  
“Of course we do,” Frank answers gruffly, shuffling into the kitchen and turning on the coffee machine while Gerard sits stiffly at the breakfast bar, resting his injured arm on the clean white surface. “D'you still take it black with sweetener?” the teenager asks, reaching up into a high cupboard for a tin of Stevia and wincing slightly as his arm trembles and he brings it quickly back down to his side, almost dropping the tin.  
“Yeah,” Gerard responds with a frown, “Have you hurt your shoulder?”  
“No,” Frank mumbles, looking down and hiding his pained eyes behind his shaggy black hair, “I'm fine.”  
“You don't look fine,” the older man says carefully.  
“Yeah well neither do you,” Frank retorts angrily, his gaze moving to Gerard's bandaged arm. An awkward silence follows and both of them watch the coffee machine brewing and filtering in the tense quiet until the pot is full. Only then does Frank move, pouring out two steaming mugs and adding piles of sugar to his and Stevia to Gerard's. Plonking the full cups down with a little more force than necessary, he takes a seat opposite his ex and wraps his hands around his drink, blowing into the streaming fragrant brew and sighing shakily. His eyes are red-rimmed and up close he smells like stale beer and something metallic and sad that Gerard can't quite put his finger on.

“Where are you staying?” he asks after a while, sipping coffee slowly with his eyes half-closed. “With Ray for now,” Gerard answers, “On his couch. When the hospital let me go and we flew back to Jersey I didn't wanna stay with mom and dad. Too many memories in that house, y'know?”  
“Shit. Of course,” Frank gasps, looking up apologetically, “Gee, I'm so sorry about Mikey. I can't imagine how that felt for you. I mean, I tried to talk to you after... it happened but you were so distant...”  
“I was pretty fucked up,” Gerard adds with a grim smile.  
“But it wasn't your fault,” Frank insists, grabbing Gerard's hand with warm tattooed fingers, “All of you were drunk and stupid that night and got into that car, not just you. Your parents shouldn't have blamed you for everything.”  
“Of course they should,” Gerard spits, pulling his hand away, “They can blame me all they like, Frank, I was driving! I mean, I might as well have fucking stabbed him, right? I KILLED HIM!”  
Shaking with grief and anger, Gerard suddenly throws his cup at Frank's head and the younger man ducks just in time. With a loud smash the cup shatters against the pale wallpaper, splashing inky liquid everywhere, and crashes to the floor in pieces, turning the smooth tiles into a wet carpet of sharp china shards. Panting and trembling, Gerard buries his face in his hands and Frank stares at him with wide eyes, almost afraid to breathe for fear of upsetting him more.

“M' sorry,” Gerard mumbles after a few tense moments, dropping his hands and staring at the counter with hollow tear-stained eyes, “I'll help you clean up.”  
“No, it's okay,” Frank blurts, jumping up and grabbing a broom, “I'll do it. Don't move.”

When all the broken pieces are swept away and the coffee mopped up, Gerard slowly gets to his feet and wanders past Frank who is standing nervously by the fridge biting his nails, grabbing the teenager's wrist and pulling him into the hall and over to the stairs. “Where are we going?” Frank asks, allowing himself to be led by the firm clammy hand as his stomach flips anxiously. “Nowhere. Sorry, I'm just too fucking tired to talk anymore,” Gerard whispers numbly, his hazel eyes vacant and red as they trudge up the stairs towards the bedroom where they used to spend so much time together. “Can we lie down for a little while, Frankie? Just sleep?”  
“Er, sure,” Frank croaks, uncertain whether he should be pleased or scared by the way his traumatized ex is behaving, “Just hang on a sec, okay?” Gerard nods wearily and Frank gently pulls his arm free and rushes ahead into his room. Grabbing the scorched photos, beer cans, his bloody army knife and the trash can full of puke – fuck last night was a helluva bender - off his messy floor, he throws them quickly out of the cracked window into the bushes below and chews on his lip as a pang of guilt spears his chest. He'll deal with that mess later. For now his attention needs to be on Gerard and in any case, his hangover is pretty killer so all he wants to do is sleep now too.  
After a respectable minute, Gerard steps cautiously into the cosy room and looks around at the familiar Misfits and Black Flag posters with a small groan of nostalgia. There are piles of clothes on the floor that smell like cigarettes and Frank, and the sight of the old Playstation games and the well-used guitar in the corner takes some of the weight he's been carrying around off his shoulders. He feels safe here, like he's come home.

“Are you okay, Gee? Can you deal with being here right now? Is there anything I can do?” Frank asks anxiously, sitting down with a bounce on the messy bed and hurriedly tidying up the scattered pillows. His childhood stuffed dog Chilli is wedged between the mattress and the wall and he distractedly pulls the threadbare toy free and cuddles it to his chest, all his attention fixed on Gerard.  
“No, I think I'm alright,” the older man sighs, kicking off his sneakers and sitting down next to Frank on the softly dented mattress, “I just need to lie down... with you.”  
“Okay,” Frank says a little too eagerly, lying back against the wall and tucking Chilli under his pillow. “You wanna be the big spoon?” Gerard teases with a smirk. Frank blushes and drops his gaze to the sheets, nodding sheepishly. Biting his lip to kill a smile – he doesn't deserve to be happy now his little brother is in the ground - Gerard takes off his jacket and the itchy annoying sling and drops them both on the floor before lying down with his back nestled against Frank's warm chest. Still wearing his cardigan, Frank pulls a comfy blanket over them both and wraps an arm around Gerard's belly, nuzzling his face into the other man's soft raven-black hair. He's missed this so much and even if it doesn't mean anything anymore it still feels right. “G'night Frankie,” Gerard murmurs, his voice already deep and slowing with sleep. Frank takes a last look around the small day-lit room and closes his eyes, curling up to Gerard and breathing in sequence with him until he feels like they're part of each other. Nothing can hurt them as long as they're here together, safe and sound. Right? He falls asleep and dreams about Gerard until the sun goes down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts, beautiful readers? x  
> So much angst is coming ;)


	4. FOUR

At 8:30 that evening, Linda Iero finishes a long gruelling shift at the hospital and arrives home with two bags of groceries and a bad mood. “Frank?” she calls grumpily, staggering through the front door with the heavy bags and nudging it closed again with her hip, “Frank, are you here? Do you want dinner?”  
Only darkness and silence answer her so she sighs dejectedly and goes to the kitchen, dumping the cold food on the counter and turning on the light. There's a fresh stain on the wall and she frowns in annoyance and sniffs it suspiciously, recoiling when she realises it's coffee. Oh, for God's sake.  
Peering into the garbage can under the sink, she finds a lot of coffee soaked kitchen towels and the puppy mug Frank bought her last year for Mother's Day shattered into broken pieces. Frank threw her mug at the wall? A flush of sadness burns her heart, mingling with a mom's disappointment. Ever since his mysterious trip to Florida, her son has been acting like an ungrateful animal and she doesn't know why. He's constantly getting drunk, skipping school, and now breaking things too - yes, she also noticed the cracked window outside! - and all her attempts to drag him out of his filthy room for a proper meal or a helpful talk have been thrown back in her face. Where oh where did things go wrong? What's happened to her gentle, thoughtful child to make him so moody and distant now? She works twelve hour nursing shifts just to keep food on their table and Frank barely even acknowledges her existence anymore. He's obviously troubled but why? He won't talk to her and she's running out of patience. Maybe he needs a male role model, but it's not as if his deadbeat father is going to come over to comfort his offspring, the lazy bastard.

Huffing angrily, Linda looks around the empty room before scribbling a short note for her son and storming back out of the house. It's Friday night and she's going to stay at her sister's place. Frank can cook his own damn dinner for once.

**  
The front door slamming shut snaps Gerard out of a dreamless sleep and he rolls onto his back, half-conscious and yawning. Rubbing grit from his eyes, he peers up at a ceiling bathed in the dark blue shadows of early night and feels a faint breeze on his face. Outside somewhere, a car revs up and speeds away and headlights strobe across the walls, glowing white in the dimness. Gerard frowns, trying to remember where he is. His heavy head feels stuffed with cotton balls and his injured arm is stiff and sore, mashed against his side where he was sleeping on it. Pushing off the thick sheets swamping his body, he sits up groggily on the narrow bed and finally recognises his dark surroundings as Frank's bedroom. Well that's just... bad.

What the hell is he doing here? He must've been sleeping for hours. Oh god, what if Frank's mom knows he's here? Linda never liked him and if he gatecrashes her precious son's life again she'll probably take a knife to him.  
Looking down in mild panic, he breathes a sigh of relief to find himself fully dressed and the warm body lying beside him – beautiful Frankie – still sound asleep.

Last year when they'd first started dating, Gerard had waited until the adorable wide-eyed teenager he fell in love with at the local comic book store had turned eighteen before they did anything more sexual than kissing. He wasn't a creep and they were so in love back then, so perfectly tuned to each other's hearts and needs and the unique experiences that had shaped and moulded each of them into an individual person that he couldn't imagine doing anything to screw it up. In fact things were so perfect that in a different life they might have stayed in love forever. But just two months after Frank's eighteenth birthday Gerard ruined it all. He got blind-drunk and kissed a local pimp named Bert on New Year's Eve instead of his boyfriend and broke Frank's loyal little heart.

Shuddering now in the quiet night, Gerard can still remember pulling away from Bert, sky-high and giggling with the asshole's sloppy drool on his lips, and finding poor Frankie standing two feet away with tears in his eyes, holding the fresh beers he'd gone to fetch for them. After an exhausting fight, they'd split up for good and Gerard had tried his best to stay away ever since. Even after Mikey died and Frank generously offered him a shoulder to cry on, Gerard wouldn't accept it. He was a fucking mess, a goddamn suicidal drunk, and Frank didn't need that kind of poison in his life.

Now, easing himself off the bed, Gerard realises he has brought the poison back again and a heavy weight drop into chaos is stomach. He should leave. Switching on the bedside lamp he quietly looks for his shoes amongst the clothes, trash and magazines littering the carpet. The orange glow illuminates Frank's sleeping form and Gerard hesitates at the sight of sweat shining on his ex's face. Frowning, he grabs the blankets still covering Frank up to his chin and pulls them away, revealing the teenager's thick wool cardigan... and several small bloodstains blossoming on the rumpled sheets. Cringing in embarrassment, Gerard immediately checks his arm, thinking some of his stitches must have come loose, but the bandages are clean and white, not even a speck of blood seeping through.

Another car zooms past outside and Frank stirs and opens sleepy eyes to squint up at Gerard in confusion. “Oh...hey,” the older man whispers awkwardly, standing up straighter and taking a guilty step backwards, “Listen, uh, Frankie, I'm sorry for busting in on you today and crashing so hard. I'm on some new medication and I don't really know what I'm doing half the time so-”  
“So you were just gonna leave without even waking me up?” Frank interrupts in a hurt voice, “Seriously?” When Gerard doesn't answer, the teenager sits up with a grunt of pain that he tries to disguise as a cough. Gerard looks again at the blood on the bed and then finally notices a much larger stain soaking through the shoulder of Frank's cardigan and his heart just about breaks. Frank follows his gaze and blushes with shame, scrambling to cover the mess with the blankets again. “Frank,” Gerard says carefully, a pit of dread growing in his stomach, “What the hell's going on with you?”  
“Nothing. Youre leaving anyway aren't you? So what do you care?” Frank growls, turning away and grabbing a dusty bottle of Gatorade from his nightstand, gulping it down with his eyes closed.  
“Aw come on, Frankie don't be like that.”  
“Like WHAT?! Do you even know what kind of shit I've been dealing with since watching you almost die? Do you even care?!”  
“Of course I do.”  
“Really? Or are you only here because Ray made you come? Or cos you're lonely and need a sympathy fuck?”  
“Hey!” Gerard yells, anger ripping at his throat, “That's NOT FAIR! I said I wanted to sleep, not sleep TOGETHER, not like sex or anything. I just wanted...like...comfort? I don't know. And besides you said you wanted to. You said it was okay...” Trailing off, the older man sighs and sits back on the bed, wanting to cry when Frank immediately gets up and walks away, wiping his sweaty face with his sleeve and chucking the empty bottle at a clump of dirty laundry.  
“Whatever,” he whispers, glaring sadly at the person he once loved more than anything in the world, “If you wanna go, then go. Sneak away and leave like you wanted to. I don't care.”

Raising his eyebrows in disbelief, Gerard approaches his former sweetheart, meeting Frank's stubborn gaze with his own and smugly notices that the teenager's green irises flood with black as Frank's pupils dilate with unconscious affection for him. Moving closer until he can feel the kid's trembling breaths against his face, he reaches out and strokes a damp strand of hair out of Frank's eyes, feeling the teenager's pale skin, warm and greasy under his fingers. The fact that Frank allows this touch without flinching away gives him enough courage to ask the question he's been thinking about since Frank woke up: “Did you hurt yourself because of me?”  
“What? Hurt myself? Don't be stupid.” Frank snorts defensively, but the guilt and panic in his eyes betrays him.  
“Come on babe, it's summertime and you're wearing a fucking cardigan. Plus there's blood on the sheets and it's not mine so unless you're on your period...”  
For about a millisecond Frank smirks at the lame joke. Then his young face crumples and he swallows hard, sinking wearily back onto the messy bed and hugging his knees to his chest, curling over himself as his voice shakes: “You don't get to call me 'babe' anymore, you asshole.”  
“Sorry,” Gerard whispers, choking up in spite of himself as a dozen bad memories flicker through his head, “I'm sorry for everything, Frankie, I really am. I didn't mean to hurt you, kid.”  
“But you did!” Frank snaps, “You did fucking hurt me! So please just fuck off now like you wanted and let me forget this ever happened, okay? I need to get my head together and I can't do that with you here!”  
“Frankie...”  
“Leave Gerard."  
"No."  
"Yes! Get out!”  
“No. I don't want to leave you like this. You're bleeding, baby, you're not okay.”

Groaning in frustration, Frank smashes his fists against the sides of his own head, his eyes flooding as his small body trembles with stress." Just fuckin go!" he sobs, "I can't handle this right now!" "Handle what?" Gerard asks in exasperation, "I'm not doing anything! Calm down, why are you getting so wound up?" Shaking his head, Frank looks around the room in what seems like fear, confusing Gerard even more before suddenly pulling a cell phone out of his pocket and waving it in his ex's face. “Get out right now or I'll fucking call the cops and have them drag you out!"  
"What? What the fuck Frank?!"  
"PLEASE Gerard, you have to go!" Frank cries, his shakes getting worse as his eyes glaze over and darken with inexplicable panic, "I NEED you to go! PLEASE! Just GO!”  
Shocked at the fear and desperation in his ex's voice, Gerard finally backs off and leaves the room, bolting down the stairs and out the front door into the cool night air. With nothing but misery behind him and nowhere else he wants to go, he breaks into a run as slick salty tears he wishes weren't there paint his cheeks in the moonlight.

The second Gerard is gone, Frank drops the cell phone and bursts into breathless tears, curling up helpless and shaking on the bed as he tries to calm the hurricaine of stabbing suffocating panic screaming in his guts. His head is spinning and his chest feels so tight he can't breathe more than a few rapid strangled gasps of air... Oh god what's happening? Within minutes he's drenched in sweat and his stomach hurts so bad he's forced to crawl to the bathroom, too dizzy to walk. Wretching and gagging, he violently throws up in the toilet before the room starts to spin and everything goes black.

A minute later he regains consciousness on the bathroom floor still crying and fighting for breath. Sitting up makes him vomit again but now he's only spitting up watery Gatorade and his cramping guts are all but empty. Forcing himself to stand on trembling legs, he claws off the hot grubby cardigan and stumbles panting and sobbing into the shower, turning on the water full blast before collapsing to his knees. Weeping and cursing the whole fucking world, he stays huddled under the downpour crying into the drain until his breathing finally slows down enough for proper air to get into his lungs and the rushing soothing water numbs his shaking skin and washes the blood off his wounded shoulder. Fuck.

When he finally manages to leave the bathroom in his dripping clothes, wiping his eyes and nose on fistfuls of damp toilet paper, he goes downstairs in search of his mother's comforting voice and arms because he's still shaking like he can't stop and he needs her to tell him he's okay. But all he finds is a note from her in the kitchen. She's not coming home tonight.  
He's alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, good or bad, are welcome.  
> To be honest, I get a real kick out of feedback (I think we all do)  
> xx


	5. FIVE

It's after midnight when a loud uneven banging drags Ray out of sweet babe-filled dreams and he groans in annoyance at the familiar noise. Stumbling groggily through his apartment in his underwear, he turns on all the lights and unbolts the door, opening it to reveal exactly what he knew would be there: a very drunk and fucked-up Gerard Way.  
“Heyyy,” Gerard slurs, grinning a lop-sided leer that doesn't quite reach his eyes as he squints up at his taller friend from behind wet greasy hair, “You wanna party?”  
“No, I really don't,” Ray grumbles, dragging the smaller man into the apartment and shutting the door behind him, “Shit, how long have you been off the wagon? I thought you were just gonna talk to Frankie, not get wasted with him!”  
Gerard sniffles and waves clumsily at nothing, stumbling woozily around the tiny apartment, “Shit happens,” he mumbles, avoiding Ray's concerned gaze and scratching his dripping hair, “It's raining outside, can I drink in here?”  
“No,” Ray growls, grabbing a dish towel from the kitchen area and throwing it at his loaded friend, “And you're not supposed to mix your new meds with alcohol but surprise, surprise you did it anyway! I love you man, but I don't know how to deal with you when you're in self-destruct mode. You can't keep fucking yourself over like this! I'm worried sick over here!”

He doesn't mean to sound angry but it's late and he's tired and the words bite like bullets through the stuffy air. Gerard's drunken smile instantly vanishes. Turning away from Ray, he staggers wordlessly over to the couch and collapses with his head in his hands. An empty vodka bottle drops out of his coat and rolls over the floorboards to stop at Ray's feet and the taller man reluctantly picks it up and throws it in the trash. Shaking his head as if in pain, Gerard curls up with his face buried in the soggy bandages on his arm and whimpers as his wet boots stain the couch cushions. “What happened today?” Ray asks gently, grabbing an empty mop bucket from under the sink and pouring a glass of water for his inebriated pal. He puts the bucket on the floor nearby and sits down at the opposite end of the couch to his drunken friend, shoving Gerard's muddy boots off the cushions.  
“I-I fucked up,” Gerard sobs, “I d-don't know how but I did. I always do! Frankie h-hates me now!”  
“He doesn't hate you,” Ray says patiently, nudging the glass of water against Gerard's elbow until the other man finally sits up and takes the drink with trembling hands, his teeth clicking against the glass as he tries to take a sip.  
“I f-fucked up,” he whimpers again, “I fucked up and n-now, I just... I f-feel like what's the fucking point of any of this shit? I'm a bad person, Ray, I do bad things! I sh-should just fucking DIE!”  
“No, no, come on please don't say that,” Ray begs, slipping an arm around Gerard's heaving shoulders and pulling him into a sad half-hug, resting his forehead against his friend's wet hair. “You're not a bad person, Gee. You're my friend and I love you, man. You're not a bad guy.”  
“Then w-why does Frank h-hate me?”  
“He doesn't hate you. He flew all the way to Florida to make sure you were okay. He loves you, Gee. He's been so messed up over you for the last few weeks, you don't even know! Tell me what happened today. Did you have a fight?”  
“No... not really. I dunno what I did wrong but h-he yelled at me! He n-never used to yell, even when I h-hurt him with Bert he never yelled like that! I'm hurting h-him, Ray, I m-make him hurt!”  
“Shhhh, no you don't. Come on, calm down,” Ray whispers, rubbing his friend's back in small soothing circles, “We can talk about this more in the morning when you feel better, okay?”  
“Mmm.”  
“Okay? For real, Gee, do I need to call your doctor?”  
“No. Fuck. I'm just s-so fucking tired of this shit, y'know? So tired of being like... me.”  
“I know, buddy. I know.”  
“Can I sleep in my clothes?”  
“Well I'm not gonna undress you, so yeah. Do you wanna eat something before you go to sleep?”  
Gerard moans and shakes his head, sipping some more water and wiping his eyes with a clumsy hand before suddenly lurching forwards and dropping the glass, his face turning deathly pale. Ray barely gets the bucket under his friend's mouth in time to catch the vomit.

***  
It's nearly 1am and the sky is raining cats and dogs over New Jersey, hammering the streets and rooftops with cold Atlantic rain. Linda is relaxing in her sister Bethany's living room with a cup of mint tea and an old episode of 'Friends' when her cell phone rings loudly from her handbag in the hall. Ignoring the noise, Linda cuddles closer to her sister and they laugh at Chandler's jokes until the phone rings again and again and Bethany finally throws up her hands and cries, “Go answer it already!”  
Linda rolls her eyes and grabs the remote, pausing the show and retreating to the hall to grab her phone. She has four missed calls from Frank and the sight of them on the tiny screen sends fear curdling through her stomach. Her son never calls her, let alone in the middle of the night.  
Hurriedly hitting the return call button, she puts the phone to her ear just in time to hear Frank pick up on the first ring. “Mom?”  
“Yeah sweetie, it's me. Are you okay?”  
There's a small sob and a stifled gasping on the line that tears through Linda's heart. Her son sounds terrified. “Frank, answer me! Are you okay?”  
“No! M-Mom, please come home!”  
Clutching the phone tight, Linda exchanges a frantic glance with Bethany who immediately fetches her car keys.  
“Okay baby, I'll be home soon. Are you alright? What happened?”  
“N-Nothing. I just...I think I'm s-sick. Mom, please come!”  
“Okay, Frankie. I'm on my way but I need to hang up now so I can drive, okay baby? Frankie?”  
The line has already gone dead.

***  
When Linda gets home twenty minutes later she finds her son cowering on the bathroom floor next to a puke-stained toilet sobbing and chewing on his knuckles so hard he's making them bleed. The moment he sees her he lets out a breathless cry and she's so shocked to see her 18-year-old child weeping like a toddler that she just grabs him and holds him close, rocking him gently and worrying when he can't catch his breath. His hands are cold and clammy but his face is hot and running with sweat and he's trembling badly, obviously scared about what's happening to him but unfortunately that fear is making it all worse. No matter how many times she asks him what triggered this panic attack, if that's what it is, he won't answer and just clings tighter to her like his life depends on it.

Eventually out of desperation and for the sake of her son's dignity, Linda gives him some of her personal valium supply which she keeps for flying on airplanes. The pills work quickly on his empty stomach and soon he's quiet and sleepy and she finally manages to pry his clutching hands off her waist and guide him to his room. With a dazed look in his eyes he burrows into bed without a word and within minutes he's fast asleep. Linda kneels at his bedside and strokes his soft dark hair for a while, wishing that she wasn't a single parent and had someone else around to help her figure this out. After texting Bethany goodnight, she creeps around Frank's messy room looking for clues about what might have upset him so much but there's nothing obvious amiss and she feels guilty for prying into his life. The window is open and letting in rain so before she leaves she tiptoes over to slide it shut and notices something odd lying on the carpet. Bending down to pick it up, she examines the object in the dim light from the hallway and frowns in confusion. It's a nylon sling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *  
> Thank you for your comments so far, please let me what you'd like to see happen next or if you have any other thoughts. xx


	6. SIX

The next day dawns blue and clear with a dazzling hot sun burning bright in the smoky city sky. The roads are already rippling with heat-waves at noon when Frank wakes up sweaty and disorientated in his stuffy room with a throbbing headache. Groaning into sticky sheets, he kicks the boiling covers off his body and gropes blindly for the gatorade he usually leaves on his nightstand but it isn't there. Lifting his aching head, he rubs at his eyes and finds them swollen and crusty. From crying?  
Oh god.  
Like a ton of bricks the events of last night crash back through his brain and he cringes at the memories: crying into his mom's blouse like a helpless baby and screaming threats at Gerard until the older man ran away. He hadn't meant to do that. Fuck, he hadn't meant for any of yesterday to happen, but sometimes something inside him breaks and a horrible airless void swallows him whole until he can't stop the fear and frustration taking over. That's why he yelled at Gerard's parents in the hospital, and why he drank half a liquor store after coming home from Florida. When he's drunk he's numb and the emotions screaming around in his guts don't hurt so much. But the booze didn't help this time; it only made him more breakable, and now his mother and Gee have seen exactly how fucked up he really is! 

With a miserable moan, Frank screws his eyes shut against the cruel sun blasting in his window and drags a pillow over his head, burrowing into the darkness and breathing in his sweaty hair and stale breath. He promised himself years ago that he'd never have a meltdown in front of his mom, never put her through that kind of worry, but now he's broken that promise, like he breaks everything else. She'll probably want him to see a therapist or something. And as for Gerard...how the hell is he supposed to fix that mess? Screwing his eyes shut he sees flashes of Gerard covered in blood, his mom's worried eyes, Donna Way's stinging slaps, that fucktard Bert McCracken, and an ocean of booze, puke, pills and pain... 

Clutching Chilli so tightly he nearly pulls the little toy's head off, he tries to take some deep breaths as his eyes flood with hot stinging tears that quickly soak through the damp pillowcase. He isn't strong enough to live like this: so wrecked that even the smallest argument with his ex-boyfriend can send him spiralling into a breakdown so bad his mom has to sedate him. He's not worth the trouble he causes her. He's not worth shit to anybody! No wonder Gerard kissed another man at that party. No wonder he tried to-

With a sharp ping, Frank's phone twitches in his pocket and his sad heart leaps at the thought of Gerard texting him a few words of apology or reassurance or even anger. Anything to make him feel like he's still on the other man's mind. But when he scrambles to check the text message, blinking through tears and headaches with his heart in his throat, it isn't from Gee.

***  
Meanwhile across town on the fourth floor of a shabby apartment building, Gerard is reluctantly sober and medicated, thanks to Ray who is projecting a very steely vibe of “do as I say or I'll kick you out” at his homeless friend. Curled up hungover on the couch in an old shirt and sweatpants, Gerard stares blankly at a cartoon on the TV and spoons Fruit Loops into his mouth, trying not to think.

It's boiling hot in the apartment even with all the windows open and Spongebob Squarepants can only distract him for so long before Frank's face and voice are haunting him like stubborn little tattooed ghosts. The meds keeping him calm dilute too quickly in his alcoholic's blood and soon all he wants to do is give Frankie a call and apologise for ambushing him at home yesterday and every other sin he's ever committed. He can't do that though because his bossy new room-mate has confiscated his cell phone.  
“I want my fucking phone back, asshole,” he growls as Ray walks jauntily out of the kitchen with a plate of jelly sandwiches.  
“Nah, not yet, man,” Ray replies, “Frank told you to leave him alone, right?”  
“Well, yeah, kinda. But-”  
“Then you should do what he wants, at least for a little while. Let him calm down before you talk to him again. I've texted him to say you're okay. Just be patient. ”

Unfortunately, patience is not one of Gerard's virtues and the heatwave is making him extra cranky. Sighing into the hair falling across his face, he slurps the last milk from his bowl and grabs the TV remote, flipping endlessly through the channels until they blur into one long fuzzy picture. He won't admit it to Ray but he's bitterly disappointed in himself for trying to drink his problems away again and his arm is aching like a sonofabitch but he can't find his sling anywhere. Everything sucks so much today and he feels like a fucking waste of oxygen. He's a grown man in his twenties with no home, no job, no relationship, and a dead brother on his conscience. What a pathetic joke.

Wishing away the claustrophobic guilt clawing at his skin, he drops the remote on the floor and kicks it at the TV screen.  
“Hey, are you okay?” Ray asks gently.  
“Not really. Do we have any coffee?”  
“No. I'm all out.”  
“Oh.”  
It's not really a big deal but Gerard's already so tired and fragile that the news hits him like a sledgehammer and he almost starts to cry. Blinking hard against the tears, he slumps deeper into the couch cushions and lies there silent and unmoving for the rest of the afternoon, chain-smoking cheap cigarettes and torturing himself with self-hating thoughts.

After three hours spent watching his friend sink deeper and deeper into self-pity and depression, Ray sends a few more secretive texts and then suggests out loud that they go on a quest for more coffee. When the miserable lump on the couch doesn't answer, Ray sighs and grabs his friend's wrist, pulling him roughly off the cushions onto the floor just to make him move. Gerard growls in annoyance, his bloodshot eyes glistening, and yanks his hand away, pouting on the carpet. “Fuck off!”  
“Gee, come on. You need some fresh air. We both do.”  
“It's sunny outside. I hate the sun!”  
“There's a coffee shop only two blocks down and it has amazing air-conditioning, you'll barely be in the sun.”  
“I don't wanna go out!”  
“Dude, I'm putting my foot down here. You've done nothing all day and it's not good for you. You know that. Just think about sipping one of those rich dark blends you love so much.”  
“I can live without coffee.”  
“We both know you can't. Let's just go.”  
“I don't want to!”  
“Gee, I swear to god! I know you feel shitty and I don't blame you after everything that's happened. I wish I could help with all the stuff messing up your head but I can't so at least let me keep you fed and caffeinated, okay?”  
“Argh, fine! But we're only going if you give me back my phone.”

***  
“Ohmygod, I needed this,” Gerard sighs, chugging from a huge mug of black sweetened coffee as hungrily as a baby animal taking milk from its mother.  
“I'll try and restrain myself from saying I told you so,” Ray snarks, sipping from his own cup at their table in the local java hut. “Seriously dude, what's the point in denying yourself these little things? You don't need to suffer even more than you already have. ”  
“There's no need to tiptoe around the facts, Toro. Mikey's dead and Frank hates me. You can say the words.”  
“Frank doesn't hate you. He likes you just fine.”  
Setting down his drink, Gerard frowns and runs a nicotine-stained hand through his messy hair, tugging distractedly at a knot near his crown until a few black strands break away and he drops them on the floor with a disinterested motion. Silence stretches between the two friends and Ray slowly finishes his beverage, checking his phone under the table every few minutes and stealing glances over Gerard's head at the coffee shop door.

Some old Goo Goo Dolls song is playing on the cafe sound system and as the last chorus ends Gerard suddenly launches into a rushed confession, his voice quaking and stressed out, coffee on his breath. “I just can't believe how much I regret what happened between me and Frank y'know, and I don't just mean New Year's Eve. You should've seen him last night, Ray. He's so scared underneath it all. I mean he's practically still a kid, he can't even buy beer yet, and he's totally wrecked because of what I've done. I tried to hurt myself but ended up hurting him even more, can you believe that? I fucked him up and made him cry just because I wanted to be near him yesterday when I knew he wasn't ready. I pushed him until I triggered his anxiety, Ray. How selfish is that? Why do I keep upsetting someone I supposedly love?”

Shrugging helplessly, Ray plays with the plastic stirrer in his cup and tries to look understanding. “Okay first of all, you didn't fuck him up Gee. He's stronger than you think he is. Sure you did a desperate thing down in Florida but it was because you were in a huge amount of emotional pain and you weren't to know that Frankie would find you there and see everything. The guy had problems long before he saw you hurt yourself and way before that thing with you and Bert. I'm friends with both of you, remember? I know you're both in a bad place right now.”  
“You can say that again.”  
“Right. So whatever you two need to feel in order to deal with things right now, you should probably just let yourselves feel it. Bottling shit up won't help anybody and it's not selfish to want to be close to someone who makes you feel better. You are who you are, Gee, and that's okay. Neither you or Frank are bad people. He's sick and you're grieving and you both drink too much but you're not bad guys and you're not broken. Life ain't easy, man, just give yourselves a fuckin break.”

Gerard winces at his friend's words and wipes his eyes on the back of his hand, staring into his drink like it could hold all the answers to the universe.  
“I'm gonna go grab a bagel or something,” Ray says with another glance at the door, “You want anything?”  
Gerard shakes his head and grabs his mug again, shutting his eyes and inhaling the fragrant steam. Ray pats him supportively on the shoulder and wanders over to the counter, pretending to read the chalkboard menu while actually watching the cafe door until it finally swings open and Frank slinks in out of the sunshine. The teenager is wearing dark glasses, a Danzig shirt and jeans ripped at the knees and his hair is matted to his forehead with sweat. Peering around at the crowded tables, he hugs his skinny stomach with his left hand and chews on the bitten-down nails of his right, looking pathetic and lost. 

Gerard is sitting with his back to the door so he hasn't seen Frank enter. Ray quickly rushes over and hugs his little buddy before stepping back and looking at him for signs of damage. He isn't sure what he's looking for but when he sees the end of a large bandaid poking out from under Frank's t-shirt near his shoulder he pretends not to notice it. “Thanks for coming,” he grins, “Are you doing okay?”  
Frank shrugs and looks down, “I guess so,” he mumbles. Reaching for his back pocket, he pulls out a neatly folded medical sling and holds it out to Ray, “Before I forget, can you take this home and give it to Gee for me?”  
“Give it to him yourself,” Ray replies, stepping aside and pointing at Gerard's hunched figure on the other side of the room. Frank stiffens and bites his lip, realising he's been set up. “Why is he here? Did he ask you to text me?” he whispers.  
“No, but I got sick of watching him mope around on my couch all day pining for you.”  
“Pining?” Frank scoffs, his eyes widening behind his shades, “I really doubt that.”  
“He was, I swear to god.”  
“Yeah whatever you say.”  
“Look man, Gee doesn't know you're here yet. I didn't tell him you were coming and I don't wanna force you guys into anything but I thought maybe you'd like to talk things out in a nice neutral setting before stuff starts to fester, y'know? I'm sorry if I overstepped the mark. You can still turn around and leave if you want. He'll never know.”  
Frank sighs and chews harder on his nails as the air-conditioner above the door ruffles his damp hair with a cooling breeze. Ray steps back a little, assuming the shorter man is going to flee, but instead Frank straightens his shoulders and drops his hands to his sides, ignoring the blood beading around his savaged fingertips as he gazes hopefully at the back of Gerard's shaggy head. “I don't want to leave,” he says with a cautious smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *  
> *  
> Hello fellow Frerard fans!  
> Sorry it's taken a while to update this but please keep commenting as feedback really does help me write,  
> and I'm dying to know what you think!  
> xx


	7. SEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi readers, please forgive me for taking so long to update, I've had a rough month. I hope you like this chapter, sorry about any typos. I also wanted to say that the way I describe Frank's anxiety in this story is from my own experiences and I know it might not match what you personally know or feel. Everyone's different. Much love xo.******

A shadow falls across the table and Gerard looks up with glazed eyes, expecting Ray. When he sees Frank instead he nearly chokes on his drink and drops the mug which thankfully doesn't break, coughing and swallowing awkwardly behind his hands. Frank's uneasy posture tenses up a few more degrees and he quickly grabs a pile of napkins from the counter and starts mopping up the spill. “What're you doing here?” Gerard splutters defensively, trying to maintain his dignity by retrieving the fallen cup. 

“Toro asked me to come,” Frank answers nervously, sitting down in Ray's vacant seat and dropping the soggy napkins in a pile among the crumbs and coffee spots left on the table. “He didn't say you'd be here though. Are you okay with this? Cuz I can leave, y'know, if you want. But I think we should clear the air and, y'know...stuff...” Trailing off, he shakes his head and frowns, shoving his sunglasses up into his hair before carrying on, “We need to talk about Florida... and probably New Year's Eve too. Honestly? It's getting so that even when you're not around all I can think about is us and what we used to be and now... Well now I see you and I know there's all this fucking tension between us, and it makes me sick. Since Florida I just can't deal with it anymore. I feel sicker every day.”  
“Oh, Frankie.”  
“I'm not doing too good, Gee. I guess you probably noticed that last night.”  
“Everyone gets upset sometimes,” Gerard says carefully.  
“Not like that,” Frank groans, wincing at the memories, “And you weren't even there for the worst of it. My stomach still hurts and I can't... Ugh, fuck I don't even know why I get like that. I hate it. I fucking hate it!”  
“Calm down, Frankie, it's okay.”  
“No it's not, I feel fucking pathetic! Now even being alone doesn't hide it anymore. When I kicked you out yesterday, I only made it worse.” Lowering his voice and staring at the table, the teenager adds in a whisper, “A lot worse.”

“We can talk about what happened if you like,” Gerard says cautiously, secretly excited that Frank regrets making him leave, “But I kinda need to know what you want from me. If you need support you can have it but I'm not exactly in a safe sane place either right now and I'd have to be blind not to realize that I really upset you last night. I made you cry and I hate that.”  
“It doesn't take much to make me cry,” Frank jokes, trying to sound funny but there's a lump in his throat. Gerard sighs, watching his ex's fingers trace patterns in the coffee stains. “How can I fix things, Frankie? Do you want me to apologize again for kissing Bert? Cuz I said sorry the morning after it happened like a hundred times and it didn't change anything. You still broke up with me.”  
“Because saying sorry didn't magically undo what you did!” Frank snaps, his knees bouncing anxiously up and down under the table as he mushes damp crumbs into pulp with his knuckles, “What even possessed you, Gerard? Why the hell did you ring in the New Year with the most repulsive creep in the room instead of me? You don't even know how that looked to everyone else at the party do you: like even a disgusting smelly psychopath was better than your own boyfriend...” The teenager's voice breaks on the last word and Gerard feels like a total scumbag, the heavy weight of self-hatred in his stomach growing larger and making him ache.  
“Frank, come on. Of course he isn't better than you.”  
“Then why the fuck did you kiss him at midnight?” Frank shouts, his heavy-lidded eyes flooding with tears as other customers in the cafe turn to look at them, “I was right there, Gee, I was standing right fucking there and you just laughed at me!” 

“I'm sorry,” Gerard insists, hunching over the table as he shrivels under the embarrassing glares from people nearby, “I was sky-high on blow and tequila and I wasn't thinking. At midnight Bert threw his arm around me and shoved his tongue in my mouth and I know I should've pushed him away and told him to fuck off but I was drunk and it seemed really funny at the time. I regretted it so much afterwards but by then you were gone. To tell you the truth it still fucking kills me every day to wake up alone and remember that you're not there because I hurt you, Frankie. I can't stand that I broke your trust and lost your love and fucked everything up. Even before Mikey died I was hating myself a little more every day. Florida was about me trying to drown out the memories of all the shitty things I'd done, not just to Mikey but to you as well and everyone else... I just wanted it all to stop. I know I can't ever make up for the mistakes I made or fix the lives I ruined but fuck at least I could take myself out of the picture, yknow? That's how I felt on that bathroom floor. Part of me wishes you never saved me.” 

Tears swell and sting in Gerard's eyes as his voice falters and he hides his face in his hands. His throat burns with coffee dregs and stomach acid and he doesn't know how Frank can stand to look at him right now. “I need to know if you can forgive me for Bert and Florida and everything else,” he whimpers, trying and failing to compose himself, “Because if you can't then this... m-me and you... it can't work. You know that. So just tell me once a-and for all, okay? P-Please let's just settle this... or say goodbye.” 

A whole minute passes in silence from the other side of the table and Gerard waits with a miserable heart, wiping his eyes on a napkin as the coffee shop bustles on busily around them, people chatting and foamy cups sloshing. Nobody pays them any more attention. 

When he finally dares to look up and see Frank's reaction to his tearful ramblings, the teen is sitting very still with his fidgety hands motionless in front of him for once and his eyes lowered in thought. A streak of crimson blood blooms in the chewed nail-bed of his left index finger and after a moment he sighs and lifts the finger to his mouth, sucking at the wound. “You didn't lose my love, Gee,” he says at last, his voice muffled by his knuckles as a few locks of hair escape the grip of his sunglasses and fall down over his forehead in soft strands.  
“What does that mean?” Gerard sniffles, picking up his empty cup again and holding it close like a security blanket. Frank shrugs and starts to nibble at his torn finger and the older man sighs and reaches out, yanking the youngster's hand out of his mouth, “Stop eating yourself for five minutes,” he scolds affectionately, “Or you'll have no fingers left.”

Frank snorts and rolls his eyes and another minute of silence stretches between them but it's friendlier now, and suddenly the younger man impulsively leans over the table to brush his lips against Gerard's wet cheek. His warm skin smells like gum and cigarettes and Gerard flinches at the touch, unsure if it's a promise of things to come or a kiss goodbye. Frank sits back down and sighs but his eyes seem lighter now. “You really don't deserve to hate yourself so much,” he murmurs softly, “You're a good person, Gee, no matter what you think you've done, and I don't want you to be miserable. I know what it's like to look in the mirror and detest your own face and I can't stand the mess I've become since you've been gone. But you still like me... right?”  
Gerard nods firmly, meeting Frank's steady gaze with his own. 

“I think... I can forgive you for the Bert thing,” Frank continues slowly, “I didn't know Florida was anything to do with that and I'm sorry our fight contributed to you wanting to hurt yourself. Fuck I would never, ever want you to feel suicidal no matter how bad you made me feel with Bert, understand? I would rather you break up with me again than hurt yourself. I would forgive you a thousand times over if it meant you didn't feel like you had to end your life.”  
“I'm still sorry.”  
“Stop saying sorry! It's done now, it's forgiven okay? This whole week I thought you did what you did in Florida purely because of Mikey and your folks. I never knew our break-up put such a huge burden on your mind. I should be apologising too.”  
“No way. It's not your fault, it's mine,” Gerard mumbles, blinking through another blurry ocean in his vision.  
“No, come on, please stop crying,” Frank begs, getting up and coming around the table to kneel by Gerard's chair. Gently, he takes one of the other man's hands in his and entwines their fingers together, “I still love you, Gee, and I want to help you. I've always wanted to help and I'm so sorry I freaked out on you yesterday. I guess I couldn't deal with you knowing I hurt my shoulder, and sometimes it's like I get so worked up I can't control what I say. I didn't mean it.”  
“I know that,” Gerard replies, lifting a hesitant hand to stroke Frank's hair, “I shouldn't have turned up unannounced like I did and messed you around either so it's totally my fault. I'm sorry for that too.”

“All apologies accepted,” Frank insists, smiling with nervous relief.  
“Thanks,” Gerard sniffles, scrubbing the tear tracks off his face and tucking his hair behind his ears, “So, uh, does this mean we're not saying goodbye for good then?”  
“This is gonna sound cheesy but I don't think I could ever say goodbye to you, forever” Frank admits, “I care about you too much to just cut you out of my life... And being alone hasn't worked out too well for either of us so far.” 

Getting slowly to his feet, he pulls Gerard up with him and wraps his arms around the taller man in a hug that is gladly returned, “I didn't follow you all the way to Florida for nothing, baby.”  
“Well listen to you calling me baby,” Gerard says hopefully, nuzzling his nose in Frank's hair and breathing him in, “What does that mean?”  
“Whatever you want it to mean,” Frank whispers, stepping back and looking bashfully around the sunlit coffee hut, “Do you wanna find Ray and get out of here now? I haven't eaten much the last couple of days so, uh, maybe we could grab some pizza or something?”  
“Oh god yes, I'm starving.”  
“Pizza for the win!” Frank smirks as Gerard's warm hands caress his ragged fingers and the dark clouds leave his head for the first time in weeks.

**  
After consuming a huge amount of cheesy junk food, the three friends go for a walk down to the park and when Ray gets bored of watching Gerard and Frank reconnect he goes home and the others barely notice him leave.

The hot afternoon turns slowly into a cool calm evening and the guys are relaxing on a picnic bench watching the sun set behind the city skyline when Frank's cell phone starts ringing and buzzing for attention again and again. “You gonna answer that?” Gerard asks sleepily, lying back on the old bench with his feet dangling in the long grass. Biting his lip, Frank reluctantly rips his eyes away from the fading sunbeams glowing red in his ex-ex-boyfriend's hair and answers the call. It's his mom.  
“Frank, where are you?”  
“Er, in the park. Why?”  
“Who are you with?”  
Hearing the wary edge to his mother's tone, Frank glances guiltily at Gerard and answers with a lie that rolls easily off his tongue, “No one.”  
“Well I need you to come home now.”  
“Why? I'm just taking a walk.”  
“Come home, Frank,” his mother orders, “Right now. We need to talk, honey.”  
“But-”  
The line goes dead and Frank nearly growls at the blank screen. If only he wasn't still living with a parent who can boss him around whenever she pleases. He's still such a child in some ways and it makes him ashamed at times like this. “I've gotta go,” he says sheepishly, poking Gerard in the stomach until the older man sits up and looks at him in the gathering dusk, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips. “Aw, how come?”  
“Mom wants me back, says we have to talk.”  
“That sounds ominous,” Gerard remarks, sitting up and passing the cigarette to Frank who puffs on it nervously as all the tension from the previous night returns to his aching neck and shoulders. His belly knots with dread and suddenly all that pizza seems like it was a really bad idea. Gerard notices the change in his body language and slides a comforting arm around his shoulders which Frank quickly pushes away, his spiking anxiety making him feel smothered by even the smallest touch. “I've gotta go,” he says again, jumping off the bench and crushing the dead cigarette butt into the dirt, “I'll call you later, I promise,” he adds, turning away from Gerard's confused and slightly hurt face and walking quickly into the dark.

**  
When Frank gets home his mom is sitting in the kitchen waiting for him with a serious businesslike expression on her face. “Thank you for coming back, sweetie. Please sit.” Frank sighs and sits down nervously opposite her, licking his bottom lip and tasting Gerard as his palms start to sweat so much he has to wipe them on his jeans. The bright bulbs in the ceiling create shadows under Linda's eyes and mouth and make her look tired and older than her 45 years.

“I found something outside that I need you to explain,” she says solemnly, reaching under the table for something big and dirty which she places with a small thud on a sheet of newspaper she has already laid out on the table top. It's the garbage can from Frank's bedroom, the one he threw out of his window yesterday into the bushes to hide from Gerard, and his heart sinks at the sight of it. It's still full of beer cans and reeks of stale vomit and buried inside are the old photographs of him and Gee that he's been crying over for the last few days, pitted with cigarette burns and curling and damp at the edges. Linda watches his guilty, ashamed expression like a hawk, her brown eyes bright with worry, before pulling something else from under the table and placing it down beside the metal can: Frank's blood-stained army knife.  
“I'm sorry!” the teenager blurts fearfully, instinctively talking like a desperate child who got caught misbehaving and doesn't want to be punished. “I just had a stupid bad night and I never wanted you to find out but things kinda got away from me and... I'm so sorry. I-I was gonna pick this up and dump it s-so you wouldn't know. I didn't mean to drink so much and I swear I won't do it again, p-please don't kick me out!”

Shaking her head sadly, Linda watches sparks of genuine terror ignite in her son's wide eyes and fights to keep her voice calm enough to avoid sending him into a full-blown anxiety attack. After yesterday he's probably still fragile and she can't handle another night of listening to him cry and hyperventilate. “Calm down, Frankie, I'm not going to kick you out. I'd never do that to you. I just want to know what's going on. Last night you were in such a mess I almost called the hospital and you wouldn't tell me why. It's alright to have secrets but not if they're making you this upset, okay? When I found this stuff outside I didn't know what to think and then I found that cardigan of yours I'm the bathroom. It had blood on it Frank and it scared me. What did you do to yourself? I love you, you're my baby boy, and I don't want you to be hurting. I want to help you. Are you okay? How did you even get your hands on this much booze? Is there anymore in your room? And how deep did you cut yourself? Do you need a tetanus shot?”  
“No, I-I dunno. A f-friend bought me the beer,” Frank stammers as the panic he tries so hard to keep hidden erupts in his chest. She's asking so many questions he can't keep track and he doesn't know how to explain without mentioning Ray or Gerard. “I'm sorry for how I've been acting lately, I know I've been drinking too m-much but I was upset and... I needed it.”  
“No one needs this much beer. Did you keep drinking more after you threw up?” Linda presses, her nursing instincts all fired up, “You could have given yourself alcohol poisoning!”  
“No, I stopped... I-I think,” Frank mumbles, clutching his clenching stomach as his eyes burn and adrenaline boils in his head, “I'm fine now."

“No you are NOT fine!” Linda cries, picking up the knife and snapping the blade closed in front of his watering eyes, “This is not fine so don't lie to me, Frank, please. Why did you cut yourself?" she adds in a softer voice, "You know that whatever or whoever is making you feel bad, whatever is making you depressed and anxious, you can tell me about it. I won't get mad. Having these kinds of feelings is nothing to be ashamed of, sweetie. Lots of people have these problems. Trust me, I've seen more self-harm scars and drunk kids trying to drown their problems than I can count come through the ER. Tell me what's wrong and maybe I can help you, or I'll find someone who can. You're my only child and I love you more than anything, I don't want you to hurt yourself.”  
“I know, I'm s-sorry,” Frank whispers, guilt ripping through his gut and tears soaking his eyelashes as he stares hopelessly at the floor, the table, his trembling hands; anywhere but at his mother's sorrowful face.  
“Is it me?” Linda asks tearfully, lowering her head to try and get Frank to meet her gaze, “Have I been too hard on you about school? Have I done something to make you miserable or scared?”  
“No,” Frank sobs, a fresh needle of pain stabbing his tortured heart at the thought of her blaming herself for his mess, "This isn't about you, mom.”  
“Well then what's wrong? You seemed fine before you went to Florida, did something happen there?”  
“I don't know,” Frank whimpers, wishing she would stop asking questions and just leave him alone.  
“Is it that man you used to date?” Linda demands, her voice hardening with protective anger, “Did he do something to you?”  
“W-What man?” the teenager stammers, rubbing his forehead with a shaky hand, his skin sticky and clammy. His breath is catching and shuddering in his lungs and his stomach hurts. “This man,” Linda snaps, fishing out a stained photograph of Frank and Gerard with her thumb and forefinger, “I knew he was too old for you but I let it alone and now he's got you into trouble hasn't he! I know someone was in your room yesterday. Was it him? Did he hurt you?”  
“No!” Frank yells pasionately, his eyes burning with anger now as well as nerves, “He would never hurt me!”  
“Oh really?” Linda retorts sharply, dropping the photo and standing up so that she towers over her quivering offspring, “Because I seem to remember him breaking your heart not that long ago. Yes I figured it out, it wasn't hard. You didn't talk or eat properly for a week after New Year's Day and I never saw him near you again after that. Now suddenly you disappear to another State and when you come home you're like this! So what am I supposed to think when I look at this photograph and...” Her words abruptly trail off into nothing as her son screws his dripping eyes shut and grips his hair with his hands, pulling hard on the short fluffy locks as he starts visibly shaking with anxiety. 

In an instant her anger melts away and she runs to the sink and pours Frank a glass of water, bringing it back to the table and sitting down beside him with one hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. He's breathing in hoarse panicky gasps and his skin feels hot and damp through his shirt. “Alright, sweetheart, it's alright,” she murmurs softly, “I'm not really mad at you. It's okay. Take some deep breaths now, I know it's hard, but listen to my voice, Frankie and try to focus on the room around you okay? Concentrate on the feel of the air on your skin. You hear the cars outside in the street? Listen to them. Feel the chair you're sitting on and the solid floor under your feet. Just concentrate on what you can hear and feel and see and this will all pass. Breathe deeper, Frankie, come on. Breathe in and out... in and out... It's okay...”

Focusing on the objects and sounds in the room lets Frank break free of the storm in his mind long enough to slow down his racing adrenaline-soaked thoughts and control his breathing better. After a few minutes he's able to stop crying and lowers his hands from his aching head to take a drink of cold fresh water. When he can breathe normally again and see more than just a shivering gray blur washed in tears, he swallows back a sob of frustration that this happened again and rests his head on his folded arms on the table, exhausted. Linda stops rubbing his back as he relaxes and plants a loving kiss in his hair, noticing that he could really use a shower. Rising from her chair, she fetches a garbage bag and quickly throws all the messy items from the table into it with the exception of the photograph which she carefully wipes clean and leaves on the counter. “We don't need to talk about this anymore tonight,” she sighs, tying the bag closed and opening the back door to take it out to the yard, “But we'll pick it up again in the morning if you're ready. Until then no more drinking, Frank, I mean it. Alcohol will only make you feel more depressed.”  
Sniffling quietly, Frank nods and shivers in the draught from the open door, wiping his eyes and nose on the back of his wrists. He feels hollowed out and weak like he's made of glass and when he lifts his head, the bright kitchen lights make the world look too hard and too sharp. He could bruise himself just by breathing. 

Linda dumps the trash and shuts the door quietly before going to wash her hands. While her back is turned, Frank slides off his chair and grabs the glass of water and the wrinkled photograph, taking both upstairs to his room and curling up on his bed in the dark. It's not even late but he's unbearably tired and wrapped in the woozy numbness that comes after an emotionally brutal day. After ten minutes or so he drags himself upright and goes to the bathroom, treating his cramping stomach to some pepto bismol before trudging back to bed for the night and lying down with Chilli tucked under his head and a soft rock album playing on his ipod. Kicking off his jeans, he checks his phone, burrowing deep under the old sheets with it and sees that Gerard has sent him a text: R u ok? X  
Yawning wearily, he types one back with clumsy fingers, staring at the tiny screen with sore eyes: Yea. mom jus wants sum family time. call u 2moro. Frnk xx  
By the time Gerard texts him back - OK. Nite babe. X – he's fast asleep.

**  
When Linda goes to bed later that night she lies awake for a long time, staring at the small book on her night-stand as she tries to pluck up the courage to read it. It will help Frank, she tells herself, it will help me understand him better and understanding him will help me fix him. Frowning determinedly, she picks up the small black journal she stole from Frank's room while he was at the park and opens it to the first scribbled entry.


	8. EIGHT

“It's ok, I'm ok. We're all good now... I'm good. I can do this...ugh...”

Glaring hatefully at the bathroom mirror, Frank rubs sleep from his eyes and spits gunky saliva in the sink. His throat burns from puking up his lunch – he can't seem to keep any food down today - and his neck and shoulders are throbbing with tension. The weather is too hot to think and his shirt is already damp and sticking to his armpits and back. Turning on the cold faucet he lets the cool water wash over the racing pulses in his hands and wrists and whispers a few words of self-comfort that don't really help at all. He should be happy right now with Gerard back in his life but instead his stomach is doing nervous flip-flops and his mind won't stop replaying the things his mother said last night in the kitchen.  
She wants him to see a therapist, or as she put it “someone who can help”, and she thinks he's a cutter and an alcoholic. Worst of all, she thinks that Gerard is somehow hurting him and making him drink. She's got it all wrong but he can't find the words to explain himself and he's terrified that she'll do something to try and keep him and Gee apart.

Leaning over the sink with a groan, Frank rests his forehead against the cold mirror glass and shuts his eyes in despair. Out of habit his teeth start to chew a fresh sliver of skin out of his quivering lower lip and it tastes like salty nosebleeds. Sucking at the small bubbling wound, he shudders and looks at his reflection again as self-hating thoughts run like freight trains through his head. Why the fuck didn't he get rid of that stupid trash can before his mom found it? Why is he always such an idiot? Eighteen years old and he's nothing but a dumb worthless crybaby, so uptight and nervous and broken... no wonder Gerard hasn't answered any of his texts today. Why would Gee want to talk to an immature waste of space who abandoned him in the park?!

Sighing miserably, he scrubs at the creeping tears pricking his eyelids and the blood on his mouth and tries to take a deep breath but he can't. It's too loud in his head and his stomach hurts too much. His hands twitch at his sides and he imagines punching the tiled walls around him until they shatter or his knuckles break. If his mom wasn't lurking downstairs right now he would probably give in to the darkness and smash every surface in this room while screaming his lungs raw. Anything to get the constant weight of panic and tension he's been carrying around with him since Florida out of his skin. Curling the fingers of his right hand into a fist, he allows himself to hit the mirror once, fast and hard, and the sharp shot of pain makes him swear and drop to his knees, on the verge of tears again. Stupid pussy crybaby waste of fucking oxygen! 

Sucking at his bruised knuckles, he slumps back against the bathtub and checks his phone for the hundredth time today but there's still no messages from Gerard. No missed calls. He's too scared to send another text only for it to go unanswered. What if he comes across as being too needy? Talk about pathetic. Why is this so fucking hard? Dropping his head into his hands, he chews his lip some more and stares at the patch of linoleum between his feet until it blurs into shadows and dust. The suffocating torment that grows in his gut whenever he gets scared or sad is destroying every part of him that Gerard made happy yesterday and he wants to scream in frustration. Why can't he just be happy and normal? Sighing shakily, he considers going back to bed to pass out into a numbing safe sleep, but it's daytime and if he goes to bed now or hides in his room his mom will make a fuss. So the bad thoughts keep swirling around his brain and he feels more and more miserable and tired and sick... until a new idea hits him out of nowhere and the horror almost makes him vomit again: what if Gerard isn't answering because he's hurt himself again? What if this time he's dead?

**  
A loud insistent knocking interrupts Ray's lunch of lukewarm noodles and he stares at his door from the couch, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Surely Gerard wouldn't come home drunk at two in the afternoon? “Come in,” he calls warily and the door flies open like the hounds of hell are behind it, revealing Frank who looks like he's just run ten blocks. “Is Gerard here?” the teenager pants, his eyes huge and wild. “No, he's gone for a drive. I don't know where,” Ray replies through a mouthful of food, “Are you okay man?”  
“Uh huh,” Frank wheezes, disappointment and anxiety flooding his red face, “I just need to see Gee and he's not answering his phone and what if he's hurt himself again, Ray? I mean where is he? Why don't you know where he went?!”  
“Because he's a grown man and I'm not his mother. Calm down, I'm sure he's fine.”  
“Then why won't he text me back?” Frank yells, almost hysterical, “When's he coming home?”  
“I don't know! Fuck...” Ray mutters, getting up and carefully approaching his spiralling friend with open arms, “It's okay, Frankie. This is not something you need to panic about, little dude, I promise. You can wait for him here, it's all gonna be fine.”  
With dread still screaming in his eyes, Frank anxiously rubs the back of his neck and looks back and forth between Ray and the open door like he can't decide what to do. In the end Ray shuts the door for him and returns to the couch, patting the cushions until the twitchy teenager gives in and sits down in a sad sweaty heap. 

For a while the television is the only sound in the room as Frank catches his breath and wipes his face on his already stained t-shirt. Ray gets up and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, throwing it at his young friend who opens it and takes a long drink with a nod of thanks.  
“Sooooo are you gonna tell me what's wrong?” the older man asks, scraping the last sticky noodles out of his bowl and licking the fork clean. Frank snorts bitterly in reply and digs some cigarettes and a zippo out of his jeans, lighting up and breathing hot heavy smoke through his scabby lips as his feet tap anxiously on the carpet.  
“Anything I can help you with?” Ray prods gently.  
“Not unless you can turn back time, Toro. Or, I dunno, somehow make me older and smarter and richer so I could get out of this shithole of a city and live my own life without people trying to control me or tell me I need help...”  
“Is this about your mom, Frankie?”  
“Sort of. It's not just her though. It's me. I'm the problem. I'm the super-loser nervous wreck who's in love with a suicidal artist and I can't even do that right!”  
“You mean Gerard?”  
“Yeah duh.”  
“But you and Gee seemed totally happy yesterday after the pizza place. What happened? Did he threaten to do something bad? Is that why you're so worried about him?”  
“No,” Frank admits quietly, closing his eyes and dragging burning chemicals into his young lungs, “But I've got this bad feeling and it won't go away...” Trailing off with a hoarse sniffle he stubs the cigarette out in Ray's empty bowl and curls up on the couch with his face buried in his knees, “I just need to see him, alright? Stop talking to me about this, I can't handle talking right now.”  
“Aw come on, Frank, don't shut down. Lemme help.”  
“No! Just leave me alone.”  
“Alright fine, be that way” Ray grumbles, getting up and heading to his bedroom to escape the drama, “I tried.”

**  
"Stupid thing, where are you?” Gerard mutters to himself, digging around between the seats in Ray's Chrysler for his cell phone. When his hands come up empty except for some sand, a few cat hairs (huh?) and a soiled kleenex (ew!), he gives up and steps out onto the sidewalk, slamming the car door with a little more force than necessary. The weather is still grossly hot and sunny and the dumpsters by the apartment building treat his nose to a wave of boiling garbage stink as he plods up the steps in his black coat and sunglasses like the stubborn goth he is. Ah, the joys of summer in the city. It's much cooler inside and Gerard sags gratefully against the metal walls of the elevator, digging a new comicbook and a bottle of coke out of his bag and opening both before he even gets to Ray's floor. He's lost in the comic's colorful pages by the time he reaches the apartment so he's not prepared for the quivering bullet of warm human that slams into his chest and grabs him in a hug the second he opens the door. “Frank?” he blurts, spilling sticky cola all over his hand and – alas! - the comic as Frank burrows into his torso and grabs at his coat, gasping something unintelligible as his shaggy hair smothers Gerard's chin and lips, “What the fuck, Frank, are you okay?!”

“ME? Am I okay?” Frank cries in disbelief, backing up all of two inches as the older man pushes his way into the room so he can close the door. “Yeah,” Gerard says, dashing to the kitchen area and grabbing a dish towel which he cautiously uses to wipe soda off his potentially ruined cartoons, “What's going on? What are you doing here?”  
“I...”  
The teenager makes a weird choking sound in his throat and falls silent and Gerard finally looks up from cleaning his hands and comic long enough to realize that his boyfriend does not look okay at all. “Frankie?” he asks worriedly, “What's wrong?”  
“I-I thought...” Frank stammers, clenching his hands together and looking at his feet as his large eyes glisten in a way that makes Gerard feel unreasonably guilty, “Never mind.”  
“You thought what?” Gerard insists, shrugging off his sweltering coat and abandoning the tiny kitchen to take Frank in his arms, “Why are you upset, babe? What happened?”  
“I w-was worried. I mean you weren't answering your phone,” Frank says in a small embarrassed voice.  
“I think I left my phone here,” Gerard replies softly, kissing the top of his boyfriend's warm fluffy head, “At least I hope I did, either that or I've lost it.”  
“Oh... Okay. Well, I hope you find it,” Frank stammers in the same sheepish tone, wriggling out of Gerard's arms and stepping back with his hands in his pockets. He's trying to look nonchalant and chill when he's obviously not and Gerard frowns, confused and tired from an afternoon spent shopping in the city. Getting out of the house for a few hours a day is meant to help with his recovery but it's exhausting and he was looking forward to vegging out on the couch tonight with a Doom Patrol graphic novel. That probably isn't going to happen now but maybe that's a good thing. After all, Frank is standing right there in front of him looking all wound up and cute...  
“Is Ray home?” he asks casually.  
“Yes I am,” Ray shouts from behind his bedroom door, “And these walls are paper thin so don't do anything you don't want me to hear!”

The tension in the room dissolves as Gerard snickers in amusement and a spark of mischief and desire shines in Frank's nervous gaze. “You wanna go for a drive?” Gerard asks with a grin. 

**  
“Ohhh f-fuck...” Frank gasps, bucking his hips as shudders of ecstasy melt his thighs and send cum gushing over Gerard's wet teasing tongue. Smirking victoriously, the older man swallows and starts sucking Frank's pulsing pink tip clean before lifting his head and lunging up the leather backseat to kiss his lover full on the mouth. “Gross, dick-lips!” Frank giggles as Gerard's hot swollen pucker smashes into his. “It's your dick,” Gerard mumbles, sliding his tongue past Frank's welcoming smile and flushing with pleasure when the teenager starts frenching him with an almost violent passion.

Some time later they come up for air and Gerard wriggles into a sitting position with a happy sigh, rolling down the window to let some air into the steamy sanctuary of their parked car. Frank continues to lie half-naked across the warm leather seat, savouring the last glowing tingles in his perfectly relaxed body before they fade away. It's after sunset and they're parked in the woods out of town where no one can disturb them. Frank's phone is turned off and lost somewhere on the vehicle floor and he hasn't given it a second thought since they left Ray's. The only person he wants to talk to tonight is right here with him.

The silver moon glimmers through a row of swaying treetops and Gerard gently pulls Frank's legs onto his lap and lights a cigarette, blowing white smoke rings out the window and massaging slow lazy circles in his partner's skin. He got his sling back yesterday but he doesn't want to use it anymore. The pain in his arm is gone, replaced by the slow itch of healing flesh and he doesn't mind that any more than he would a bug bite. Being back in a relationship with someone he cares about is the best medicine he's ever taken.

The earthy scent of pine wood drifts through the car and Frank closes his eyes and breathes slowly and drowsily, tasting the warm air as for one perfect moment he manages to forget all about the horrors in Florida and everything bad that happened before that and since. He's safe here with Gerard, and Gerard is safe with him. It's only for a moment but it's enough for tonight.

**  
Meanwhile across town, Linda is beside herself with rage. She's just read the last entry in her son's private journal, written the day after he got back from Florida, and it's filled with so much pain, self-loathing and fear that her heart breaks at the thought of her baby boy feeling so miserable and afraid. She can see the agony in his shaky handwriting and the dry smears of ink smudged by tears and the beer he used to drown his sadness. How DARE this man Gerard Way put her Frankie through this! How dare he use and abuse her son's caring nature and drive him to the edge of a nervous breakdown! Mr Way is obviously too old and damaged for Frankie, but for some reason her son doesn't see it that way. The journal is full of desperate wonderings about why Gerard ruined New Year's Eve and why Gerard tried to kill himself and what Gerard thinks and why he does this and that and everything is Gerard, Gerard, Gerard! Frank is clearly obsessed with this suicidal drunkard and now he's walking down the same path to self-destruction because he naively believes he's “in love”. But Linda is convinced she knows better. This can't be love and she swears to herself now that she will find a way to get this man out of her son's life for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Hi, Author here: I must confess I nearly gave up on this fic because I wasn't sure if anyone still liked it or hated it or what but then one lovely person sent me a comment and I really want to give it another chance.  
> Let me know what you think and what you want to happen next. I love hearing from you, faithful readers, it really makes my day sometimes. xx ***


	9. NINE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: I've rewritten and reposted this chapter with quicker pacing and better characterisation and added a bit more Gerard stuff. Hope you like. Chapter Ten will be coming soon. x

Gerard takes Frank home just after midnight like a tardy Cinderella and after a sloppy goodbye kiss Frank walks backwards up the garden path with a smile, watching his lover drive away until the car disappears from sight and silence falls over the moonlit street. Almost immediately a feeling of loss grips his heart and he hugs himself on the shadowy porch, trying to shake off the creeping loneliness already tainting the misty night. It's okay, he tells himself, everything's going to be fine. Just stop worrying all the time. Stop!

Trying to smooth his hair into a less obvious just-been-fucked style, he finds his keys and sneaks into the house hoping Linda is asleep. But before he can even shut the door behind him his mother's voice rings out of the kitchen, "Frank?" and he sighs and kicks off his shoes before trudging reluctantly towards the brightly lit room. She sounds pissed off and he doesn't have the energy to make up lies about where he's been. All he wants to do is go upstairs, shower and sleep. It's late and he has stupid fucking awful school tomorrow - the last day of hanging around pointlessly before Graduation. His buzz from being with Gerard is already fading and now it's just him and his angry parent and he finds himself wishing more than ever that he was a proper adult living on his own somewhere far away from Linda's rules and annoying good intentions.  
“What?” he asks moodily, walking in to find his mom waiting at the table in her dressing gown holding a cup of sweet-smelling tea. She frowns at his sulky tone and abandons her drink, standing up and folding her arms tensely in the stark fluorescent light. “Don't you 'what' me. It's late and I had no idea where you were. When I tried calling, your phone was off. I was worried.”  
“Well here I am,” Frank shrugs, trying to sound light but there’s too much frustration in his voice. “You don’t have to worry so much mom, jeez I'm eighteen now not fucking twelve.”  
“Watch your language!" Linda snaps, “And I think after the other night I have every right to be worried about you.”

Wilting under her probing glare, Frank lowers his eyes, bad memories surging through him with waves of nausea in his stomach, "I wasn't drinking," he mumbles quietly, hoping to placate her, "I'm okay now, mom. I feel better."  
“Well good, I'm glad," Linda replies stiffly, walking over and briefly stroking his hair before sliding her hand down his jaw and tilting his chin upwards so he's looking her in the eyes. "Where were you though? At Ray's?"  
"No," Frank answers truthfully before he can stop himself, a shiver running down his spine as he realizes where this conversation is going. His mom looks sad and disappointed and he feels inexplicably guilty, wishing he could make her understand how happy he was tonight before he had to come back here to her questions and suspicions. Leaning over him, she loudly sniffs the air and wrinkles her nose as if she can smell the sex and cigarettes on his clothes. “Were you with Gerard Way?”  
"I...No," Frank stammers unconvincingly, his face growing hot, "I was just out."  
"Out?" she repeats grimly. "Yeah, out!" Frank cries, exasperated, pushing her hand away.  
“Don't lie to me, Frank,” she barks, “I know you were with him.”  
“Well so what if I was?!” Frank snaps, his irritation growing as he looks defiantly into her face, their green and brown eyes boring into each other, “We had fun and now I'm home, although with you interrogating me I wish I wasn't so why can't you just get off my back!”  
Wincing, Linda drops her hand from her son's face and steps backwards, her expression tense and grave, “I don't want you seeing that man again. Do you understand? He's not good for you.”  
“What? Why?” Frank stammers, “What the hell are you talking about? You don't even know him!”  
“I know more than you think!” Linda retorts. She can smell the vile smoke and spunk on her son's clothes and the stench is only fuelling her anger and fear. “He makes you miserable, Frankie. He makes you drink and cut and cry!”  
“No he doesn't!” Frank yells, stunned tears swamping his pained eyes which doesn't exactly help his argument, “He didn't make me do anything, mom, you don't understand.”  
“You mean he didn't make you do it TODAY.” Linda snaps sarcastically, “But the other night you had the worst emotional crash I've ever seen and I know it was his fault.”  
“He didn’t do that to me,” Frank insists, “I did. It was my fault!”  
“No it wasn't sweetie,” Linda gasps, “Is that what he made you think? Did he tell you it was your fault?”  
“Ohmygod, NO! Stop talking about him like he's some kind of predator!" Frank begs, his voice raw with rage and hurt, “He's not like that, mom. He loves me!”  
Linda closes her eyes for a moment and counts to ten, her hands making fists inside her dressing gown pockets, “No he doesn't baby,” she finally mutters, “And as long as you are still living under this roof, you will not see him again. I forbid it!”  
“Oh yeah? And how the fuck are you gonna stop me?” Frank shouts defiantly, dreading her answer but spitting hellfire in her face, and with a hiss of frustration Linda moves her hand and slaps him across the cheek. They both gasp, Frank's hand cupping his reddening skin as shock floods his eyes, and Linda wants to apologise – she's never hit him before, not ever – but instead she just bellows a final command at her son, “Go to bed!”

Flushed and stinging with emotion, Frank turns and runs upstairs, slamming his bedroom door as loud as he can. He knows he's being a brat but he doesn't care. It's none of her business who he hangs out with and he hasn't done anything wrong! She just ruined his night for absolutely no fucking reason! Yanking off his jacket, he balls it up and throws it into the nearest wall before collapsing angrily onto the messy bed. The cut in his shoulder throbs as hot blood pounds in his ears and his outraged anxious breathing makes his lungs feel cramped and tight. He suddenly needs a drink very, very badly. Sitting up, he scrapes a hand across his teary eyes and reaches down the side of the bed for a quart of vodka he stashed there last week, unscrewing the cap and chugging several gulps straight from the small slippery bottle. Gerard is HIS boyfriend and HIS choice. How can his mom just decide to take that away from him when it's the only thing in his miserable pathetic life that makes him happy? Furiously swigging more vodka as tears he doesn't even notice dribble down his face, he breathes heavily around the neck of the bottle, steaming up the glass and almost choking in his rush to drown his emotions in the flood of cold clear alcohol. She can ground him or take away his games consoles and guitars or even lock him in his room and throw away the key but she can't stop him loving Gerard! He needs to show her that she can't split them up and he'll fight her every step of the way if she tries. She can't do this to him!

***  
Ray wanders out of his room at 1am to find the unusual sight of Gerard humming and smiling as he makes up his bed of blankets and pillows on the couch. "Well you seem happy," the taller man smirks, going to the fridge and grabbing a beer, "Have fun with Frankie?"  
Gerard immediately stops humming and his face falls as he drops the last pillow on the pile and sits down heavily on the old sheets, glumly picking at the cord on his Batman pajama pants. Ray notices the abrupt change in mood and rolls his eyes before scooting over there and perching on the arm of the couch nearest his friend. "You're allowed to be happy sometimes, Gee," he says softly, "It's okay."  
"No it's not," Gerard mumbles, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, "I don't deserve that."  
"Think what you want, man, but I don't believe Mikey would want you to be miserable for the rest of your life."  
Gerard flinches at the sound of his brother's name and buries his face in Batman-patterned cotton, his shoulders slumped with sadness. "It should have been me," he whispers, so quietly that his friend can barely hear him.  
"It should have been none of you," Ray counters, sipping his beverage slowly, "You'd only had two beers that night, Gerard. You thought you were sober enough to drive."  
"I wasn't though was I," Gerard mumbles, still hiding his face in his kneecaps.  
"You were under the limit by the time they tested you," Ray reminds him gently.  
"Yeah after it was already too late," Gerard scoffs, lifting his head to reveal pained eyes brimming with tears, “And that's the only reason Dave's parents didn't press charges against me for killing their son. Fuck, Ray, why'd you have to bring this shit up now?"  
"I'm sorry," Ray says quickly, "I didn't mean to. Fuck."

Wiping his eyes, Gerard straightens his legs and slumps back against the cushions, cracking his knuckles nervously. "I can still picture Mikey's face right after it happened," he whispers shakily, "Before anyone came to help me. He looked so... I dunno, surprised. Is that weird? Surprised that his big brother had killed him right?" Sniffling miserably, he shakes his head and lies down, hiding his face in a coffee-stained pillowcase. Ray sighs and takes another swig of his drink, awkwardly resting a hand on his pal's shoulder. "I know it doesn't help much but you can stay here as long as you need to, Gee. I'm here for you, buddy. Always."

***  
A long unsettled night turns into a steamy summer dawn and Frank wakes up groggy and puffy-eyed to the sound of his alarm clock screeching and someone knocking on his bedroom door. “Go away,” he groans, punching the clock into silence and covering his head with a blanket, “Leave me alone!”  
Out in the hall Linda stops knocking and bites her lip nervously, forcing a happy tone into her voice. “Come on, Frankie, I'm gonna drive you to school today.”  
“No way. I'm done with that shit.”  
“But you have to return your text books and empty your locker, honey. Don't you want to see your friends before Graduation and, I don't know, maybe get your yearbook signed?”  
“I don't have any school friends!” Frank snaps, his head pounding with the effort of arguing with her yet again, “I fucking hated school mom, and I'm never going back there. Fuck Graduation, they can do it without me.”  
Wincing at his filthy language, Linda turns away from the door defeated and checks the watch pinned to her nursing scrubs. If she doesn't leave soon she'll be late for work.  
“You'll miss high school when you're older,” she sighs. Her son doesn't answer.

Making her way downstairs, Linda grabs her purse and makes sure Frank's journal is tucked safely inside. She'll have to find another opportunity to sneak it back into his room later but in the meantime how can she cheer him up and make him see that he'll be better off without Gerard Way in his life? With a hopeful smile she finds a pen and leaves a note for her son on the fridge:  
I'll be home at 5 today.  
Be ready to go out  
because I told Granny Lillian  
we'd stop by and visit her.  
She misses us.  
Love Mom

Frank adores his grandmother. Surely he'll come out of his room and act nicely for her sake and then maybe the wise old woman can talk some real sense into him.  
With time getting on, Linda is almost out the door when she notices a shiny white object lying in a corner near the foot of the stairs: Frank’s cell phone. He must have dropped it last night when he ran to his room. With a guilty glance at the ceiling, she crouches and picks it up, pressing the power button and watching the device light up in her hand. The lock screen is a picture of a white Les Paul guitar with a number code pad over the top and, without expecting anything to happen, she presses 1-2-3-4. To her surprise, the phone unlocks. Well clearly she needs to teach Frank a little more about personal security. The home screen is flashing with two text message alerts and a missed call from Gerard Way, and the background picture is an image of two men's hands entwined on what looks like a car seat. The slightly smaller hand with finger tattoos is clearly Frank's and the other no doubt belongs to the man who's been trying to contact her son all morning. Gritting her teeth, Linda turns the phone off and stuffs it into her purse. If she can stop her lovesick son communicating with Mr Way for even a few hours then it will be one small victory on the road to separating them.

***  
All morning Gerard keeps checking his phone for messages from Frank and when he doesn’t get any by lunchtime he tries to shrug it off, thinking his boyfriend must be busy with school. When four o'clock rolls around however and Frank still hasn't called or texted back, Gerard grows a little more anxious. What if he came on too strong last night in the car or said something wrong? Frank seemed happy enough but they’ve been moving so fast in this rekindled relationship and maybe the teenager is having second thoughts or even running scared? That's the last thing Gerard wants.  
Ray has taken the car to work with him so Gerard decides to walk the mile or so across town to Frank's neighbourhood, clutching his phone the whole way just in case it rings or vibrates with a communication from his beloved but of course it doesn't. With the hot sun beating down on his head, he nervously swats at the flies and bumblebees drifting through the warm air of the Iero's front yard and walks slowly up to the house. Frank's mom's car isn't in the driveway which is a relief. He wouldn't dare to approach the front door if she was home.

He knocks three times with his heart in his throat but there's no answer, only silence from the old house. Frank's bedroom window is slid open a little, the curtains waving faintly in the summer breeze, and Gerard almost calls out his boyfriend's name but there’s an old man watering plants in the garden next door and he's too self-conscious to start shouting. He's almost ready to give up and leave when the door suddenly swings open and a bubbling ball of Frank rockets into his arms, wrapping his legs around Gerard's waist and forcing the older man to catch him in a cuddle. “Hey!” the teenager laughs happily, hugging Gerard's neck and kissing him wetly on the lips and nose, “I was hoping you’d come over!” He’s wearing a Nirvana t-shirt and pajama pants and smells like fresh soap and beer, his brown hair wet from the shower and falling adorably into his eyes. He looks so cute that Gerard could eat him up.  
“I was gonna call you Gee, but I think I lost my phone. I looked everywhere for it, like for a whole hour, but it’s not here. Did I leave it in Ray's car?”  
Gerard grins and kisses his excitable boyfriend on the cheek. “I dunno, probably. I'll check when I have a chance. How are you, babe, are you ok?”  
“I'm more than okay,” Frank answers with a strange determination, his eyes flashing darkly as he drops back onto his feet and pulls Gerard into the house, slamming the door and launching himself at the older man again, kissing him hard and deeply on the mouth. Gerard relaxes into the frantic embrace, sliding his tongue between Frank's warm lips as the teenager runs his hands through his hair and grinds his hips up against Gerard’s crotch until they're both getting hard. “Are you sure you're okay?” Gerard splutters into Frank's eager mouth. “Never better,” Frank breathes, panting softly as he pulls away, his cheeks blushed with heat. “Well, then do you wanna take this upstairs?” Gerard giggles, very aware of the straining boner in his jeans as he nuzzles Frank’s neck and breathes in his smell. Frank grins mischievously, “The couch is closer.”

Before Gerard can argue, the teenager drags him into the living room and pushes him onto the silky blue couch cushions, quickly stripping off his own shirt before straddling Gerard's lap and kissing him again with an almost desperate passion. Giddy with lust, Gerard kicks off his shoes and fumbles with his belt buckle, sliding part way out of his jeans so Frank's quick hands can tug at the waistband of his boxers. Grinding on Gerard's leg so his erection rubs against the older man's thigh, Frank pulls Gerard's underwear down and takes his boyfriend's throbbing dick in his hands, rubbing the hard shaft up to the tip until pre-cum is soaking his fingers. “Ohhh god,” Gerard moans happily, burying his face in Frank's bare chest and gripping his waist so hard he must be leaving marks. Frank shivers with pleasure and rubs himself harder on Gerard's leg, massaging the sensitive underside of the other man's dripping head with his wet thumb and forefinger until Gerard feels a tight ecstasy building up inside him, making him shudder and gasp. Summer sweat runs down his back and his legs start to tremble as he kisses Frank's neck and sucks at the pale flesh above his collarbone until red hot blood blooms to the surface in a purple bruise. Frank moans low in his throat and moves his hand more quickly as Gerard rolls his hips, riding the younger man’s slippery palm until the pleasure overwhelms him and his orgasm splashes in thick ropes of cum across Frank's hand and stomach. Gasping through the comedown, he sinks back against the soft cushions and opens his eyes to see Frank's flushed face grinning above his own. The teenager leans down until their foreheads are touching, still rubbing himself like a horny dog against Gerard's thigh, and kisses him again, his warm skin slick with perspiration as he pants hoarsely against Gerard's mouth. Gerard whines happily and slides his hands down Frank's quivering hips, pulling the teen's pajama pants low enough to return the favor...

...and that's when the sound of the front door opening rings out in the hallway. Shock and panic hit Gerard and he practically shoves Frank off his lap in a rush to cover himself up. Frank slides to the floor and picks up his discarded shirt, slowly wiping his sticky hands and belly as Linda Iero's voice echoes through the house. “Frank, are you awake?”  
Horrified, Gerard zips up his fly and huddles deeper into the rapidly cooling couch, staring in disbelief as Frank calmly gets to his feet and pulls his pants up without any kind of hurry. The teenager looks a little dazed and his mom's voice was obviously a boner-killer but he's not as freaked out as he should be at being caught hand-fucking his boyfriend in the family living room. In fact he looks kinda drunk.

Stumbling through the living room door, Frank steps out into the hall with a quiet “Hey mom,” and Linda turns towards him, frowning in confusion at her offspring's sweaty shirtless appearance. “Frank, what are you…?”  
Gerard grabs his shoes off the floor and holds them against his chest, looking frantically around for an escape route and wondering if he can jump out of the window before Mrs Iero sees him. Then Linda’s puzzled expression melts into surprise and anger as she finally looks beyond her son and sees Gerard cowering there. Wilting under her gaze, he jumps guiltily to his feet, expecting a barrage of angry abuse to be hurled his way but all she does is turn back to her son with a furious knowing glare. “Did you read the note I left for you, Frank?”  
“Yeah,” Frank replies with a weird nervous smirk , scratching at the scab on his shoulder.  
“Then you knew exactly what time I’d be home, didn’t you,” Linda says through gritted teeth, her expression unreadable. Out of habit Gerard checks his watch. It’s just after 5 o’clock. Frank nods and looks at the floor, no longer smiling or meeting his mother’s gaze as he folds his stained t-shirt into a square. With clenched fists and pursed lips, Linda turns to Gerard and barks two words at him: “Get out!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Mumbling frantic apologies, Gerard dashes past the fuming mother and son and out the front door, running down the block with his face burning with shame, not even stopping to put his shoes on until he’s out of sight of the house. What the fuck just happened?! Surely Frank didn't set them up on the couch like that just so his mom could find them together? Why the hell would he do that? Jesus, fuck! Gasping for breath as the hot city dust clogs his lungs, Gerard wipes his face on his arm and tries to calm down but he feels so used and embarrassed and sick and everyone in the street is staring at him, making it ten times worse. His heart hurts and his brain is screaming at him to drown out what just happened in numbing oceans of alcohol until he chokes. Blinking back tears, he pulls out his cell phone and scrolls through the contacts. It wouldn’t take long to call a cab and get himself to a dive bar downtown. It wouldn’t cost much to lose himself in cheap vodka shots and those sleepy blue pills the doctors gave him...  
With a shaking hand he dials a number and someone picks up on the third ring.  
“Hey Gee, what’s up?”  
“Ray, hi. Look, uh, sorry if you’re busy but there’s just…I-I’m on Frank’s street and I need to... Ray can you p-please come and get me?”  
“What happened? Are you okay?”  
“No. I don’t know, I just… I can’t be alone right now, I think I might do something stupid!”  
He’s half-whispering, half-sobbing into the phone and Ray insists on coming to pick him up immediately. “Just stay where you are I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t move until I find you. Promise?”  
“I p-promise.”

Hanging up, Gerard wipes his eyes and sits down on the curb with his head in his hands, staring at his phone as confused thoughts run in circles through his mind: What was Frank thinking? Shit, is he okay? Is he using me to get back at his mom? Was he drunk today? Does he drink because of me? Why the hell are we so fucked up? What the fuck are we even doing?! What's his mom gonna do to him?! After five endless minutes of self-torture, Gerard tries calling Frank’s phone but it must really be lost because the line doesn’t even ring, it just goes straight to answer-machine. He doesn’t leave a message.


End file.
